


Sultry Sunday Smut Series

by SmoakandArrow



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, No Plot/Plotless, Shameless Smut, Smut, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:12:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmoakandArrow/pseuds/SmoakandArrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Queen makes the mistake of touching when he's not quite in control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sultry Sunday Smut Series

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of one-shots for the Olicity Sultry Sunday Smut Series, a 5 week hiatus long writing challenge dedicated to smut without a plot. I've definitely gone over the 800 word(ish) count limit but... yeah. Oops. There are no betas for this challenge, so please forgive any typos. 
> 
> Week #1 Challenge Prompt: Passion

Touching her had been a mistake. Oliver Queen hadn't made many in his life, but the instant she turned away from him, the second he caught her arm and pulled her back – intent on telling her she was wrong, focused on showing her she didn't know him as well as she thought, and determined to tell her to go to hell – something changed.

The heat of her skin through her silk blouse shocked his palm before firing into his blood. Her scent – that ridiculous smoky blend of deep, dark woods and exotic spices – clouded his brain. In an instant his red haze of anger morphed into a different rage. Yes, he still wanted to challenge. Still wanted to regain control. But now… His fingers flexed on her upper arm, tightened. His heartbeat quickened, became a drum inside his skull, his bones. His dick. Now he wanted to be between her legs when he did it. Wanted to drag his lips over her flesh. Taste. _Lick_.

His thumb dragged across that pink silk. His gaze dropped to her mouth. To those perfectly painted fuchsia lips he suddenly needed to see smeared and swollen from his kiss.

Those lips pressed together, pulled inward for just a moment before they relaxed again, the bottom one catching between her white teeth.

He growled, a low, impatient sound as he tugged her closer – or did she step toward him? Oliver wasn't sure. He only knew he wanted that mouth. He wanted to be the one to punish it with stinging bites. He needed to tame its sass so the only demands to spill from it would be breathless cries for more.

Somewhere in the back of his brain came a distant warning. It was the last sentient vestige of civility. The last scant trace of normalcy five years of hellish, animalistic survival instinct hadn't drummed out of him. Wrestle the impulses, it warned. Chain it down.   Get control, damn it. This wasn't right. This was a mistake. This was _Felicity_ , for Christ's sake. He couldn't just bend her over his desk, shove her skirt up, and fuck her.

Her eyes narrowed. That gorgeous mouth of hers firmed, then her chin notched upward.

I dare you.

She didn't say it. She didn't have to. The gauntlet was thrown. They both knew it.

Oliver swore under his breath – gritty, raw, pained – as he locked a hand around the back of her neck and yanked her to him. Felicity's eyes widened and a startled gasp burst from her right before he took her mouth, plundering it with a bold thrust of his tongue. Her arms twined around his neck, the move molding her against him from chest to thigh, and she took advantage of it, stretching and rubbing against him like a cat as she purred deep in her throat.

Her nipples, hard and peaked beneath her blouse, scraped his chest. Her nails sank through his hair to score his scalp.

He bit her lip. Hard. Shocking. Stealing a panting moan from her that he liked too much.

He turned – or maybe she pushed him, did it matter? – and in two stumbling steps felt the satisfying jolt of the tempered glass wall between his office and hers meet her back. He slanted his mouth over hers, desperate as he fumbled with the front of her shirt. His fingers were too big. The buttons too small. Swearing, he seized the fabric, pulled. Silk ripped. Buttons flew. Felicity whimpered as her back arched.

Oliver nipped her jaw, her throat, as he cupped her breasts. He found her nipples with his thumbs, rolled them before pinching them tight between his fingers.

She shuddered. Those nails scraped down the back of his neck to his shoulders. Her breath was hot in his ear, frantic as she twisted against him.

Cursing, he shoved his hands under her skirt. He rucked it up without ceremony, stripped her underwear away, and lifted her. His mouth found her breast, drew the nipple in to nip before lashing with his tongue. She cried out as she rolled her herself against his hips. Her cry was still ringing through his office when Oliver lifted his head, caught her ponytail in a fist and yanked her head back.

Those blue eyes were unfocused and glazed with passion now. Those perfect lips hot and wet from his. Her lashes dipped. Her tongue swept across them as if savoring the taste of him. Those dark lashes fluttered upward. Her gaze met his as she touched his mouth with trembling fingertips.

Then she dropped her hand to the buttons at the front of his pants.

Oliver didn't remember anything much after that, just her hand freeing him from the confines of those pants, her fingers wrapping tight around his dick, squeezing and stroking as she peered up at him and whispered about all the time she'd wanted to do this with her mouth. All the times she'd wanted to be on her hands and knees on the training mats with him behind her… in all that leather…

And then he was inside her – angling deep, pushing harder than he knew he should, not sure which he was punishing for a crazed hunger he couldn't control. But as his body drew tight, as release began to build, he realized she was right there with him – thrust for thrust – that her body was clenched tight and wet around him as he sank deep once more and began to come.

She cried out a moment later. Not just release. Not just satisfaction and pleasure. No. She called out _his_ name. Clung to him as if he were the only solid thing in her universe.

Trembling, spent, he dropped his head to her shoulder. A moment later, she touched his head. Stroked his hair.

He was still inside her. Still hard.

She was still clenching him, lingering squeezes of small, rolling orgasms that made her gasp and flinch involuntarily.

Her nose touched his ear, then her lips, as she pet him, soothing him.

Why hadn't he touched her sooner? Oliver Queen didn't make many mistakes in his life, but fighting this had definitely been one of them.

~*~


End file.
